


Keep The Hat On

by ghostnebula



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostnebula/pseuds/ghostnebula
Summary: What they have between them, Fahrenheit wouldn’t call it romantic. Doesn’t have any of the bells and whistles that came with being in a capital-r Relationship. It’s a bit of fun, something nice in a world mostly devoid of nice things; moments of intimacy shared whenever they can find the time.
  Originally written for the Fallout Kink Meme.





	

The floor of the Old State House shakes as someone kicks the door open downstairs. Fahrenheit stands up and takes a few steps closer to her minigun which she left resting against the couch. She stops when she's within reach - doesn't want to use it unless she has to. It's not the first time someone's burst into the town hall and it won't be the last, but she likes to deal with these troublemakers in a more subtle way. Not really enough room in here to pull out the big guns, so to speak. She prefers not to get viscera all over the office.

Loud footsteps thunder up the stairs and Fahrenheit balls her hands into fists, bends her knees, gets ready to tackle whatever jackass decided to burst in here and interrupt her while she was in the middle of reading Guns & Bullets. The jackass reaches the top of the stairs and poses, fedora pulled down rakishly over one eye and black trench coat billowing in her wake, announcing her presence in a booming baritone.

" _Never fear! The Silver Shroud is here to dispense justice!_ "

"Ah, Jesus." Fahrenheit drops her stance, sighing, and rolls the tension out of her shoulders. "It's just you."

"Just _me? Watch yourself, citizen, for the Silver Shroud is--_ " She stops, and drops her fake voice. "Wait, isn't Hancock here?"

"Nope."

"Oh. Really? It's just that I heard on the radio that he wanted to meet with the Silver Shroud and, well. Here I am," she says, and gestures to herself. The Silver Shroud, by day known as Ripley, steps forward into the office. She flicks the brim of her hat away from her eyes and glances around, looking put out. "I wasted my big entrance."

"I dunno, I kinda got a kick out of it," says Fahrenheit, and her lips twitch in a smirk. "So this is what Kent has you doing these days, playing dress-up?"

"Yeah." Ripley looks down at herself and plucks at the lapels of her trench coat. "Fighting crime the Hubris Comics way. It's kind of silly but... y'know, it's something to do."

"Well, it's good to see you back in town. Feels like I haven't seen much of you around here lately."

"What, you miss me or something?" Ripley asks, grinning.

Fahrenheit chuckles in response and ducks her head. "Look," she says, pointedly ignoring Ripley's question, "Hancock's out on official business, so he says, but he'll probably be back soon. Might as well hang around. I'll get you a drink."

She walks over to a cooler and fishes out two beers, lobbing one to Ripley and taking her place back on the couch. The magazine she'd been reading gets tossed on the table to make room as Ripley sits down next to her, cushions dipping under her weight.

They sit in silence for a while, Ripley drinking her beer and Fahrenheit drinking in the image of the woman sitting next to her. Beads of condensation run down the bottle and along her fingers, dripping onto the floor. It had been a while since Ripley had been in Goodneighbor. A few weeks, a few months; Fahrenheit hadn't really been counting. Counting the days was a bit too intimate, the kind of thing lovelorn maidens did in faded romance novels. It had been a long time, that's all she was going to say. Ripley's looking better since she was here last, though. She's looking stronger. Sharper.

"So," Fahrenheit says, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. "What's the Silver Shroud's deal, anyway? Never could be bothered sitting through one of the broadcasts."

"Ah, just some campy old radio show. About a mysterious figure who fights crimes, looks out for the good of the people, yadda yadda." Ripley waves her hand dismissively. "Your friendly neighborhood submachine-gun-toting vigilante."

"And that's what Kent's idea is?" Fahrenheit keeps her voice level. Doesn't want to seem sarcastic; she's genuinely curious. "Get the Silver Shroud back on the scene and clean up the streets?"

"More or less. Give the people someone to believe in."

"Huh. You're going a bit far to indulge the old guy's fantasies, aren't you?"

"Something wrong with a little fantasy?"

"Never said it was a bad thing." Fahrenheit takes a swig of her beer. "Kent's a nice enough guy. Harmless. Not a lot of folks would give him the time of day."

"Yeah, well. He's a relic, like me. Pre-War. We've gotta stick together. Besides, I have a soft spot for the Shroud. Used to listen to it all the time. Well, back in the day. Fond memories, y'know?"

"Fair enough." Fahrenheit nudges Ripley with her elbow. "Just watch yourself out there. Don't think the Silver Shroud ever went up against Super Mutants."

Ripley's eyes widen and she leans forward. "Actually, there was this one episode, not with Super Mutants exactly, but..."

Fahrenheit sips her beer and watches, amused, as Ripley re-enacts scenes from the Silver Shroud's adventures complete with sound effects and hand gestures. This whole superhero thing she's doing with Kent seems to have lit a spark in her; it's nice to see her so excited about something.

When Ripley first strode into Goodneighbor she was so set-jawed and square-shouldered, Fahrenheit didn't think much of her. Thought she looked like one of those Diamond City holier-than-thou assholes. But she was pleasant enough around town and Hancock seemed to like her, which was fine. A friend of her boss' was a friend of hers. Then eventually they bumped into each other in the Third Rail one night, had a few drinks, got to talking... and bumped into each other a few more times after that.

What they have between them, Fahrenheit wouldn't call it romantic. Doesn't have any of the bells and whistles that came with being in a capital-r Relationship. It's a bit of fun, something nice in a world mostly devoid of nice things; moments of intimacy shared whenever they can find the time. It just is what it is.

Ripley's in the middle of explaining the Silver Shroud's three-part Halloween special when Fahrenheit reaches over and plucks the now-empty beer bottle out of her hand, putting it and her own bottle down on the coffee table. She winds her other arm around Ripley's shoulders and pulls her close. Ripley trails off, cheeks flushing.

"You were right," Fahrenheit mutters, close enough so that her breath skitters across Ripley's cheek. "Earlier. When you asked if I'd missed you."

"O-oh?"

"Mm." She plants a quick peck near Ripley's earlobe then trails kisses down along her jaw. "We've got some catching up to do."

Ripley sighs, eyes closing, and leans into Fahrenheit a little more. "Wait, wait. What about Hancock?"

"What _about_ him?"

"You said he might be back soon."

"Then we'll have to be quick." She flicks the brim of Ripley's hat, smirking. "Or doesn't the Silver Shroud, master vigilante, like to take risks?"

Ripley chuckles and lowers her voice. " _Ah, citizen,_ " she says, and Fahrenheit can feel her voice rumbling through her chest. " _There's only one thing the Shroud truly likes and that's_ justice."

Fahrenheit ducks her head, laughing. "God. You're so ridiculous," she says, and leans forward to kiss Ripley properly on the mouth. Ripley moves into the kiss immediately, wrapping her arms around Fahrenheit, then leaning back until they're both lying on the couch. The ancient springs shift under their weight and Ripley wriggles, trying to get comfortable with Fahrenheit half on top of her and the arm of the couch digging into her back.

Ripley breaks the kiss and nudges Fahrenheit until she can sit up properly again. "Hold on," she says, breathless, and strides out of the room and into a closet, out of sight. Fahrenheit relaxes into the couch, one ear tilted towards the closet, listening to the sounds of hurried undressing. She has a faint idea of where Ripley's going with all this and she really hopes she's right.

A few moments later, Ripley re-emerges from the closet, trench coat done all the way up and scarf rucked high around her neck. She shuts the door of the office behind her so they can have a little privacy. One less thing for the Neighborhood Watch to, well, watch. When the doors are securely latched she turns around and poses, a blush tinging her cheeks. Fahrenheit leans forward and looks her up and down, noting that her legs are suspiciously bare. Oh, yeah - this is exactly where she thought it was going to go. Ripley, who's trying to look coy and aloof, breaks into a foolish smile, her cheeks flushing dark red.

"Well, don't keep me hangin', Fahrenheit murmurs.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, Ripley undoes the buttons of the trench coat and spreads it out wide to reveal that she is, as suspected, wearing nothing but the coat. She stands there looking like an Old World pin-up, and Fahrenheit can do nothing but sit with her elbows on her knees, gazing at her as if committing every curve and contour of her body to memory. Her strong arms and shoulders, the spread of fat around her middle, thick thighs well-toned from walking, her dark skin beautifully contrasted against the silver lining of the coat.

Ripley quirks an eyebrow and lets go of the coat flaps which fall back down to her sides. "So you gonna just stare, or...?"

Fahrenheit gets up and crosses the room in two strides, wrapping her arms around Ripley's waist and pulling her into a kiss. Her clothes must be coarse against Ripley's bare skin but if they are, she doesn't say, instead just slinging her arms around Fahrenheit's neck and kissing her back, hungrily and deeply, all teeth and tongue. They stumble across the room, intertwined in a clumsy waltz, until the back of Ripley's shins hit the coffee table. She glances at the couch and then back to Fahrenheit, who shakes her head.

"Nah," she says, "too small, remember?"

Ripley steps aside as Fahrenheit grabs a corner of the coffee table and heaves it to the side, sending everything cascading to the floor. Papers flutter down, bottles and chems clatter and bounce across the room, rolling under chairs and behind tables and out of sight. No big deal. She'll pick it all up later, probably.

Ripley sits down on the now-bare table as Fahrenheit nudges her legs apart with her knee, moving in close so she can plant kisses down along Ripley's collarbone, down between her breasts and to her bellybutton. She kneels down and runs her hands along Ripley's inner thighs, making her shiver.

" _God_ ," Ripley sighs, and Fahrenheit glances up. Then she laughs; a quiet chuckle that takes them both by surprise.

Ripley flinches at the sudden huff of breath against her skin. "What? What's so funny?"

"Your hat," Fahrenheit says, smirking and shaking her head. "Forgot you were wearing it. Kinda hard to take you seriously when you're in costume."

" _But, citizen,_ " Ripley says, dropping her voice as low as it can go, " _the hat is an essential part of the ensemble! The Silver Shroud is, after all, equal parts dapper and dangerous._ "

"Oh my God. You're doing the voice _now_?"

" _Of course! What is the Silver Shroud without a voice that strikes fear into the hearts of ne'er-do-wells and--_ ah!!"

She gasps, her baritone giving way to a squeak of surprise, when Fahrenheit plants a kiss atop the thatch of dark curls in between her legs. Fahrenheit grins to herself when Ripley leans back and lifts one of her legs up to rest on Fahrenheit's shoulders. She shuffles closer, so close she can feel the heat radiating off Ripley's body, surrounding her, and lets out a long slow breath. Ripley twitches at the warm air skittering across her skin and rocks her hips forward.

Fahrenheit certainly doesn't need to be told twice. She brings two fingers up to her mouth and licks them, making sure Ripley's watching her, and then parts her labia and places her tongue against hot wet flesh. She licks and sucks, steadily, then building faster as though she really is making good on her vow to catch up on lost time. She gets into a quick rhythm, her mouth and tongue warm and relentless against Ripley's vulva, her hands running along the outside of her thighs and gripping tight, pulling her close, holding her in place.

Ripley grinds her hips, breath quickening, an alternating stream of praise and curses dropping from her mouth. Her hands find Fahrenheit's head; one tangles in her hair and the other brushes against stubble, and Fahrenheit moans appreciatively when Ripley drags blunt nails against her shorn scalp. Warmth pools low in Fahrenheit's core as her partner bucks and twitches and her moans give way to a gasping chant of " _yes, yes, yes_ ".

Fahrenheit's hearing is muffled by the warm thighs either side of her ears but she can feel Ripley gasping, breathing ragged as though she'd been running, huffing in short sharp bursts to the same rhythm as the rocking of her hips. She's close, she's so close. Fahrenheit takes one of her hands off Ripley's thighs and slips a few fingers inside of her, sliding them in and out in time with her sucking.

Ripley's warnings are barely audible, a string of half-formed _I'm gonna_ 's before she tenses, back arching, and comes with a shudder. Her thighs squeeze Fahrenheit's head for a second and release, her legs twitching and sliding off her shoulders. Fahrenheit sits back on her haunches and wipes her chin with the back of her hand.

"That's graceful," Ripley says with a breathy laugh, looking down at Fahrenheit with half-lidded eyes.

Fahrenheit smirks. "Didn't hear any complaints when I was down there."

Ripley scoffs and reaches out her hand, pulling her up until they're both on the table, Fahrenheit kneeling between Ripley's legs. She leans in and they share a quick kiss as Ripley's hands find the front of Fahrenheit's pants and unzips them hurriedly. Fahrenheit helps her along, rucking her trousers down a little for easier access, and Ripley's hand slips under the soft cotton band of her underwear before she can blink.

Fahrenheit's already wet and she leans into the touch when Ripley's fingers trace down along her vulva. She bites back a noise, leans forward, uses a hand to brace herself, as Ripley's fingers slip inside easily and curl upward. She works up to a steady pace, her thumb making broad movements against Fahrenheit's clit, and it's not long before heat curls in her abdomen and travels up her spine.

She's leaning against Ripley for support, nestling into the silver scarf still tied ‘round her neck, and nudges it aside so she can kiss and suck at her nape. Fahrenheit moans into her skin, teeth nipping at soft flesh, as Ripley's other hand moves to Fahrenheit's breast, cupping and pinching her nipple through the thin fabric of her top. She tries to unbutton her shirt but she's distracted as Ripley quickens her speed, and her hand uselessly gropes the air instead. Ripley mutters encouragements into her ear, guiding her along, her fingers curling and uncurling and thumb travelling in small quick circles around her clit.

A shiver starts in Fahrenheit's core and crawls up along her spine as she places her mouth against the nape of Ripley's neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. Her toes are curling in her boots, she's breathing heavily through her nose, and then her breath catches, muscles tensing as she comes, and she moans low in her throat and presses her teeth against Ripley's skin.

Her heartbeat is in her ears and she's dimly aware of Ripley planting kisses on her mouth, her nose, her cheeks. Fahrenheit pulls back a little and rests her forehead on Ripley's shoulder, exhaling a shaky breath that seems to come from the bottom of her lungs. It'd be nice to just stay like that for a while. Pressed up against Ripley, feeling the heat radiating off her skin, the murmurs of praise in her ear. But Ripley leans back a little, mutters something about the hard table making her ass numb, and Fahrenheit pulls away.

A knock on the door shatters the silence, making them both jump.

"Hey, Fahrenheit," calls a voice, and she recognises it as one of the Neighborhood Watch guys. "We got a situation outside. Big situation. Need you to, uh, intervene."

"Shit." She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "I need to deal with that."

A smirk flashes across Ripley's face and she tips the brim of her hat down. " _Crime never rests_ ," she booms in her Silver Shroud impersonation. Fahrenheit scoffs, rolling her eyes, as she zips herself up and gets off the table.

"If you keep doing that voice, I'm gonna grab your hat n' beat you with it," she says, but she's joking. Mostly.

" _What irony,_ " Ripley says, still in-character, as she gets up as well. " _The Silver Shroud undone by the very outfit that made her a hero._ "

"Jesus." Fahrenheit shakes her head and picks up her gun. "You're lucky I like you."

She's expecting another comment from the Shroud delivered in forced baritone so she turns around, surprised, when instead Ripley chuckles and slips back into her normal voice.

"I'm glad," she says, looking at the buttons on her coat as she does them up as if she's talking to them instead. "I like you too."

Fahrenheit smiles to herself, tightening her grip on her minigun and hoisting it off the ground. She says nothing as she heads towards the door. There's nothing she needs to say. It's just a nice moment in a world mostly devoid of nice moments. It is what it is.

She reaches the door and waits until Ripley's decent before placing a hand on the handle. "Hey," she says, glancing over her shoulder, "don't be a stranger."

" _Worry not, fair damsel. The Silver Shroud will always_ \-- hey!"

Ripley ducks, laughing, as Fahrenheit picks a ball of paper off the ground and throws it at her.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

Hancock doesn't arrive back at his office until hours later with a sheaf of paper tucked under one arm - earning reports or intel or something - strolling towards his terminal. His stride breaks when he steps on something and stumbles, a Jet canister crunching under his foot and spinning off into a corner.

"Jesus," he says, once he regains his balance and looks around at the detritus littering the room. "Why th'hell is my shit on the floor again?"

Fahrenheit glances up over the edge of her magazine, licks her finger, turns a page, and shrugs.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the [Fallout Kink Meme](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6855.html?thread=17882567#t17882567), written a while ago but tidied up a little.


End file.
